Seduction of Love Induction of Loathing
by picket fence
Summary: From the feelings and perspective of an orc. He is forced to help an elf folk to find her way to the river. But can he hold out his passion that long for her? Please review. I'd appreciate it so much!
1. Gwain

Ok, people, I started thinking about why no one wrote something while having the perspective of an orc. Haven't seen it done before and I really wanted to see if I could do it. I know I can but now it's a matter of whether or not you people like this. Please, feel free to flame me for if you don't like this chapter, I'll assume that you won't like the rest and then it'll be just a waste of my life to write something more even if I do enjoy writing. I would really like to write something people would like to read so do be cynical if that is what you wish.

I found this an extremely NEW idea but please tell me if it's already been done before, I haven't seen it done. Once again, read and review please, I want to know if I should continue this or not. I'll assume no one likes it if it's only my select few friends. Anyway, I'll stop wasting more time than need be. Here's the story….

Nothing is beyond the wrath I have witnessed. It is a shock by nature though one would have guessed long ago such matters were teetering on the edge. A dangerous fear and loathing aroused between the nations and such contept has only lead us to bitter war.

In such war there are none who don't oppose one another and do fight with spirit and strength against their own brothers. It weakens my heart, an atrocity to the morals of gifted humanity; an atrophy to the soul and mind.

The orc lay quivering upon the earth, head bowed and unyielding as the blood cleansed the grass around him. A few arrows were entangled in his back dripped the foul liquid along his back and neck. 

He moaned and bristled as he lay on the green turf, the thought of death gripping at every part of his body. The fear of it and the pain had ceased all existence and now it was the waiting. Death was far less painless than the orc had ever expected. Another man leaned over him as he wreathed and panted from striving to breathe, an elf it was.

"Let me first ask you why," the orc began to the elf though he was not sure if the elf would heed his question. Whether the elf would condone him or to reprieve him was up for debate, especially in such state. "It never had to be such way. Do you not believe me when I tell you so? We could have lived and prospered, to have a life that unwound into bygone days, where we could tell stories of great and valiant men. Yet, those days have come and not gone on accordingly. These men we speak of now are hear and untried, they fight the battles that still have yet to be won. It is all we see in the future and now is then.

These men have come-hither and for what cause? What noble cause has such low regards? To do battle with their rivals is that not intended? You are non-the better at this enigma than I." The elf made no reply or means in which to silence the orc. His cold eyes glared at him, disapprovingly but with intent to listen to what was to be said. 

The orc twitched slightly and gazed for awhile into the deep sky. Neither made any gesture to break this natural silence.

"There was truly no need, I am given my orders only to be obeyed. I am as innocent and guilty as the next. I am loyal as should all be, noble and disciplined as you are. We are all honorable men, we follow such creed hand in hand as though we were born with similar will. I ask not from you, nor your people to reconsider or redirect your thought. The world shall not fail you; you shall fail the world."

Ok, I know an extremely unproductive and short chapter. Do let me know what you think because I'm not intent on people telling me nothing. Should I or should I not continue? I'm still working on another story by the way so if you don't please tell me so I can direct my attention onto my other stories. **AND REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PRETTY PLEASE!!!!!!**


	2. The Truth through Denial

"Bind his legs and arms," said the elf, "we should do well to have one who knows such lands. Perhaps a hostage is worthy as a bargaining trifle: perhaps not. Who knows the use of such vile a creature, nay? I prithee, do bid him and let him journey with us. Our recklessness is worn and tired feet must rest. Take his thirsty and tiresome soul and do as he bids for now. The morning will come brighter than that of others. We will journey under its gleam. For now, do treat him with as much respect as we should treat our own. Be wary my friends. He is as much a help as he is a risk."

The orc was lifted aloft and carried. He was tied in elven rope that did not yield to his subtle movements. His heart throbbed in his chest and his body still ached. By now though, such pain was a comfort. Pain was now a feeling of revival, a feeling with mixed guilt and pleasure. 

He grimly wished though that such pain would go. Pain, though at this moment was a comfort, still could not free him from his wretched and torn heart. He had betrayed or perhaps was betrayed now. He could not work with this feeling inside of him that throbbed even more painfully than the blood that swelled in him. Such feeling pulsated through him in denial of what had happened. He was encumbered by this sudden obligation that he would soon attend. They would use him most likely to do what wishes they pleased. It was not his duty though. He continued to relate these facts. He was there to aid none but his own cause. His cause was for such country that he believed in and not some petty fools and flatterers. There was no way to atone for such betrayal and either he would die by the hand of the enemy or succumb to it. Neither were his fancies. 

Pain, as he came back to this thought, was something that he still yearned for despite the pressure of the condition he was now facing. He was being tended to know, kind hands had dug their marks into his cold and bloodied flesh in order to retrieve the arrows harshly embedded into him. He reeled in pain although he felt only the kind wrath of the enemy overcoming his aroused dignity. 

He drifted silently in and out of consciousness while shouts were heard from the ranks. A counter attack had been launched on the enemy. They encircled their region and had been launching into the field of battle. That was the last that the orc had heard before he fell into a deep restless sleep. The only light that showed would be the cruel light of the rising sun. He dreaded such fear and now, more than ever, longed to sleep and never return to the grim broad light.

"What news of yourself can you relive to us?" asked an elf harshly. The orc made no reply for a while but then, upon realizing he was being addressed replied;

"I am Gwain, from the third regiment of Osgilith," he said. The man sat on a steed that was impatiently pawing the ground. He twisted the braided reins between his ring and index finger before he asked his horse on. The horse responded at once and slid to a gentle lope across the field of combat. Many dead men lay now. Enemy and the allies alike lay bathing in the same tears and blood.

Ok, this again, is another extremely short chapter that really doesn't get anywhere. Normally I'm one to make my chapters long so please, review and hold with me. I'll make it through. Oh, and also, I'm motivated when people review my stories and tell me that they like it (or hate it) it really doesn't matter. Anyway, once again, please review and if you have any suggestions, do tell. If you are wondering, this is my natural writing style so it's a little odd for some people to understand but well, it aint changing whether or not you like this style. As I addressed before, I'm an innately evil little writer. If you like this story, review or else I'll have no problem in killing everyone. Yes, even Legolas so please review or else.


	3. The Lion's Game

Disclaimer:  I own neither the orc nor JRR Tolkien's work.  I do however take ownership for Gwain and Sasha since they are both of my imagination and not Tolkien's.

Silver life is bound by song, 

Golden life is passed along,

Hearken Listen only to the praise of light,

Respond only to death's cold night,

It's cynical but tame,

In the lion's game.

He shifted in his position.  A thousand knives seemed to stab internally as a hand held him to the ground.  Fingers slid along his torso as he stared up into a nameless face.  It was a face of a timeless effect, incarcerated in a chasm of ageless hours.  Yet again, as Gwain looked passed the eyes of this woman, he sensed an age that doubled in his own, wise beyond her years and still fair.  It was as though this woman had seen too much, perhaps knew too much while still at the height of her womanhood.  The years that she carried with her could not be guessed.  Her movements were slow and swift.  Her hands moved like they were calloused and worn, though they were fair.  

Her arms were pale as though the sun had never ventured to lay its glaze upon her.   On her arms were many scars finer than a hair's width.  Her flaxen hair was pulled up high and held in a hairpiece that glistened in the sun. 

Her neck was encircled with many laces.  One of these laces held a charm on the end of it.  On the charm was engraved a symbol of some sort.  Its significance was not known to Gwain as he stared bluntly at the elf.  His vision glazed over and trumpets blared overhead telling of another attack on the fortress.

"You sleep with a troubled mind," she whispered in his ear.  Her lips brushed past his cheek.  Her voice filtered through his mind.  It was deep and forthcoming; there was no sign of fear or intimidation. 

Gwain made no reply.  He stared fixedly at the sky and chanced to glance at the woman every now and again.  It was a day of brilliance as far was he could tell.  The golden light filtered through the trees and off in the distance he could catch the sounds of birds.  At some points he thought he could hear the leaves as the light breeze whispered through their branches. 

No, he could not fancy these things at such a time.  The pain still weeded through his system and though the swelling had ceased, he still carried the same wound he'd received in another form.  Death was not the issue now, though he still grieved for its touch.  After all, why had he been spared when his kin had not been given the opportunity?  It was a question that vexed him as he lay still upon the soft earth.

"I ask you what is to be the succession of this conflict?  How long has the tribute to death gone on?"  He spoke in haste for she did not reply readily.  Her drudgery continued for a time before she ventured to utter any syllables.

"You have been in and out of consciousness for about three days following your apprehension.  It is morning though the exact hour is of no knowledge to me.  The conflict you speak of has not become apparent as both sides continue with no progress or failure," she replied though her speech fell upon deaf ears for Gwain had once again passed into a dreamless sleep.

-

"I've thought little of my obligations," Gwain sighed when he awoke.  To him it seemed he'd been overcome by fatigue although he'd slept long into the day.

"I've no doubt that there is more than little thought you seek," she said.

"I do not follow."

"Few do," she could have smirked and perhaps she did but her face remained level and focused.

"I've no need for mind games."

"You've put much thought into your situation.  Much more than you deem true or just."  Her face move this time, twisting into a face younger but wiser than before.

"How do you make this claim?" Gwain stared into her eyes; they were opaque and as hard as ice, authoritative and challenging.

"You are a troubled sleeper."

-

A voice cut through the orc's mind, issuing and echoing in the hallows.  It was a voice he'd heard all his life but could not distinguish its owner.  It rang out and lingered for a time the way a bell does when tolled.

He awoke drenched in sweat.  His bonds cut loose and lay in shredded ribbons about the earth.  Before he lifted his head, a knife blade was poised at his throat and a hand rested upon his chest.  He drove his head back into the ground as though uncoiling in pain.  The familiar throbbing came into his chest again.  His wrists and ankles, where the rope had been exposed to, were now bruised.

It was night and the clouds, ever darker and forbidding as they rolled on, overcame the stars.  The voice spoke again, this time shrill and softer:

"You will take me east to the River Anduin."

So, does that meet everyone's standards?  If so please review.  If not please review anyway.  If you have no opinion whatsoever, review.  I want to know that my stuff is read and my hard work is not wasted over a pitiful and meaningless story with no defiant and original plot.


	4. Dark Depth, Delightful Demise

It was the women, he could see her now, her hair flaxen in the moonlight and her face lit with inner beauty.  Her eyes narrowed on him.  He beheld pale and worn eyes, a light of which had never been shown to him before.  He suddenly fell under their command.  They directed his every move for if they did not, he would become limp and sink into the earth never to rise again.  They contrived the inner workings of his every need and intention, as though they could hear every thought he issued into his head.

          "You need not my help."

          "Oh, but I do," her lips did not move.  Her eyes were blackened now, colorless with solid pools of unlit fire.  There was no way in words to describe the way Gwain preserved her.  He felt nothing, no threat but yet, no knowing could he procure in his imagination; only a dull and monotonous task which he idolized and came upon no conclusion.

          "Then it shall be done."  He needed no argument for argument was naught the obligation.  Argument was a waste of ages that would never turn to his favor.  Though he knew not the reason or will, and though he was no longer retaining his dignity to his tribe of the Uruk-Hai, he felt his presence was needed by this women more desperately than any service he could abide by in arms.  He agreed and by that morning, before the suns first ray hit the Ephel Duath, they began their journey.  In the open sun they traveled.  It weakened the orcs instinct though the women became more cunning by day and more seductive by night.

          "Lady," he asked to her before their march, "I know not your name, nor any of your standings.  I've no need to hide in shadowy corner though for long years I fear to be open.  Tell me now, how is it you live?"

          "Much will be revealed in time.  Much else will be lost in time.  I know not the answers to most of your questions but those I do will mean nothing to you.  I am Sasha, Elven lore tells of my family in a line;  The road upon the walking dead, brings little comfort to the soul, though many trod upon it now, time will come when no one will tell, whether stick nor bird nor fowl thing, dots the land ahead, for those who come, wither some, and those who stay, may bend or sway, those who mark their homes upon lands south, will bring comfort to all, beyond the Anduin's mouth."

It was a vast and desolate place as far as the eye could see.  Over yonder lay the ashen mountains where fire still brewed.  The lands were black and barren save the southern part of the region, though it still felt the wrath of the great malice and held true to little else.  It grew long grass, plain and ghastly in its nature, and grew nothing else.  Over the mountains of the shadowy precipice was a land less black, rolling fields still lurked in the midst of the desolate area.  Then came the forests and trees and brooks, unpolluted by the fowl air of the east.  The water that ran through the foreboding mountains however, was poisoned by the fowl air and would forever be a victim of his evil malice.

          A head hung low upon a string, the body had been weathered and atrophied.  Hardly recognizable to the figure that looked upon it without words.  He gazed mournfully at the man though did not know how this man had came to his fate.  He did not try to feel that string upon his throat.  It was a memory, an account of his life he would not like to face, whether it became true or not.  Upon heading the presence of the living man, the head looked up and into its eyes did the glaze and mourn fall.

          "You need not pity yourself, you need not look too far into this future, it has not been bound to your fate as it has mine.  Do not fear.  But do not fall."  The face went lifeless yet again and to the living man's horror, it withered away till only the skull was upon the slackened line.  It stared up again into his, those eye sockets that had once been filled with that glaze that horrified him no longer existed.  He would meet them again, reincarnated in another day when the timing had come and the place was not right.

          "Awake," she cried, "arise Gwain.

Trouble brews, trouble's here, hot upon our trail.

Hide, hide, hide, under bushel, under grove,

Trend not on troubled waters,

Lightly under day, Swiftly by moon's light,

Hurry on untrodden path, Evil comes up that path as well,

Hurry, hide, hasten your pace,

Evil brews, Evil thrives,

Under dark, depth, delightful demise, it breathes and boils,

And curls into shapeless hate."


	5. Poisoned Song

Aloha to all.  I know I have no updated this story, preferably any story in a matter of long months.  It seems like years to me.  Despite time seeming to stand as still as ever, I have undoubtedly finished The Lord of the Rings.  Of course, now it is up to me to remember it.  Nevertheless, I will try to finish up this story entitled Induction of Loathing.  However, I will need your help and support.  Yes, I am referring to all who read this story and either appreciate my writing or think it sadly unintelligible.  Long hours do I spend on these fanfics, typing away at both my leisure hours and hours in which I should be doing my priorities first.  So, although I'm sure you want to listen to my story rather than listen to me gab about this or that, I really would appreciate a few reviews.  I will say this as bluntly as possible; it is probably one of the hardest tasks to write a story from a perspective of someone who is not considered a "good guy" and who, in the Lord of the Rings, was presented without feelings or empathy toward others.  I don't know even now if anyone else has attempted to write a story from the perspective of an orc either, but to those who have, I give them god's speed.  Now we shall carry on.  I plan to make this chapter a bit faster moving…

          They ran far longer than they had thought.  Neither of the two counted their footpaces and neither kept track of which direction they had been going.  All they knew then was that their pursuit was in process.  And those in pursuit of them were gaining on them.  With every step they took, the followers gained twice the distance.

          "We shall never out run them," cried Gwain to Sasha, "they are horsed, they are of this land, know the terrain, it would be folly to waste more strength."

          "As do I know the terrain, quickly!  Now come," she guided him to the left and took the lead.  The trackers were taken off guard and paused for a moment before continuing on, still in their directions.

          The sound of battle roared as they continued on.  It was not from behind them however.  It was not upon them either.  The sound of this battle was not coming toward them at all, Gwain and Sasha were heading toward it.  An icy grasp clenched Gwain's heart in realization.  He almost doubled up when he'd analyzed up the truth.  She, the woman he was leading now, she had betrayed him.  Lead him to a death trap.  Seduced him in so many ways.  Why were they heading toward the battle?  It was all planned, how foolish.  How foolish for him to fall into her arms and succumb to her wishes.  It was not the knife that lead him to help her find the river.  It was out of his will, his grace, and his trust in her that led to his own undoing.

          She depicted his uneasiness at once.  Swiftly, as they ran, she began to sing.  Her song flowed in and out of his ears, his hair, and every joint in his body.  Swiftly opening and closing the door.  As quickly it had walked in, it left.  It was peering at him, assessing him, looking into him like no other had done before in words or songs, and that song would never end.  He would always feel the sours of having his body ripped open by words and taken apart, put back together again and never once questioning.  

          He obeyed her command like a well-trained cur.  They ran into the midst of the battle.  They passed by invisibly.  Untouched although they could peer into every face on that night and see their fear and anguish.  It was fabricated, unreal, and yet so alive that every detail that night was a painting, held so in focus and so alive that you swore you might be able to see the breath of the artist.  He flipped over all the happenings, every weary eyebrow that cast on an enemy, every sign of distress from a captain, and flick of a horses' ear.  And he remembered every happening of that passing.  

          They passed by unseen, into Fanghorn Forrest.__


End file.
